


Spock's Nickname

by StellarLibraryLady



Series: Star Trek The Gentle Seasons Series [34]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bickering, Breakfast, Established Relationship, Humor, Innuendo, M/M, Nicknames, suggestive talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-04-25 13:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14379504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarLibraryLady/pseuds/StellarLibraryLady
Summary: At breakfast, McCoy decides that Spock is in dire need of a nickname.  Spock differs in opinion.  He cannot see that the need is that urgent.  McCoy also uses the time for suggestive innuendo while Spock is just trying to eat his waffles.





	Spock's Nickname

“Spock, I think that it’s high time that you got a nickname!”

Spock dusted invisible crumbs from his fingers and looked up from his breakfast waffle. The noise of other breakfast eaters surrounded them in the mess hall. Jim Kirk was not dining with them, which was odd, indeed. He must have been detained. And that was odder still, because we're talking breakfast here. Breakfast is the time to fuel up. And Jim Kirk has a love affair with food.

But Spock was more concerned with McCoy. He knew that McCoy was half in jest, half bored. Spock needed to draw boundaries, or it was anybody's guess where McCoy's playfulness would lead them. “Leonard, I do not need a nickname. I would not know to answer to it even if I gave one to myself.”

“Oh, yes, you would!” McCoy said with enthusiasm. “Because you’d hear it all the time! Besides, your friends pick your nickname for you; you don’t. It’s given to denote some personal trait or body condition or to reflect a person’s occupation. That’s why Jim calls me ‘Bones.’”

“Why?”

“Hmm?”

“Why does he call you ‘Bones?’ To denote your skinniness, to reflect the fact that you are a doctor or sawbones, or to mean that is all that you had left of your monetary assets after your last divorce?”

McCoy shrugged. “Who knows for sure? Anyway, it fits me like a glove that was made for me." He leaned toward Spock in a conspiratorial manner. "Of course, my glove would be rubber since I'm a doctor," he joked.

"My, you are in a good mood this morning, Leonard."

"Why wouldn't I be?!" McCoy crowed. "It's a new day! The sun is shining all over the universe! And I've got the attention of the love of my life!"

"Thank you, Leonard." He paused and looked at McCoy. "I am assuming that you mean me when you are indicating the love of your life," he said just to hear McCoy squawk.

And McCoy did not disappoint him. "Of course, I mean you, you green-blooded, pointed-eared--" He stopped himself in mid-rant and gave Spock a soft look. "Sweetheart. My green-blooded, pointed-eared sweetheart." He straightened. "And don't you ever forget it. Now, you," he said businesslike. "You are in dire need of a nickname.”

Spock sighed to himself. Here he thought that he had successfully diverted McCoy from his newest endeavor. “I still do not see the value of nicknames. We have so many numbers in our lives already. Our numbers will suffice. We do not need more names to identify us.”

“Oh, yes, we do! Numbers are so cold and impersonal.”

“I have no problem with numbers being used to identify me.”

“As I was saying, numbers are so cold and impersonal.”

Spock shot him a scathing look.

“Watch it there, Vulcan! Your emotions are showing. That was a thousand volts of scathing anger that you were directing my way.”

“My disdain is showing, Doctor. That is quite a different proposition, entirely.”

“Apples, oranges, they’re both fruit!”

Spock frowned. “I fail to see your logic in that statement.”

“Only in that statement?! Boy, I must be improving!”

“That is hardly a cause for celebration, Doctor.” The disdain fairly dripped from Spock’s words. The Ice Maiden had arrived in all her frozen glory.

But her appearance simply stimulated McCoy. “Hell, I love it when you’re haughty like that! That's sexy as hell!” McCoy said under his breath while his eyes began to smolder. "It's so much fun to try to thaw you out. And may I say, Mr. Spock, that when I do get you heated up, you can go from frigid to boiling hot damn fast! And that's when my life gets really interesting for me, especially my nights."

Spock glanced around. “Doctor, may I remind you that we are in the mess hall and not in our quarters? What you are saying is for the bedroom.”

“We can correct that oversight really easily, you know. A turbo life ride and a walk through some corridors will take us right back to the holiest of holies.”

“Doctor, we must consume nutrients now so that we can refuel our bodies in order to have the energy to work today.” He gave McCoy a pointed look. “Now is not the time for hanky-panky.”

McCoy's eyes twinkled. “Oh, I love it when you try to use slang!”

Spock took umbrage with that. “Leonard, I believe that I used the term correctly.” 

McCoy grinned. “Yeah, you did. But it somehow seems so inappropriate coming out of your mouth!” His eyes glinted with lust. “I’d really rather have other things coming out of your mouth. Like your tongue, for instance. I’d rather have your tongue coming out of your open mouth and headed for my naked skin.” He swallowed. “Amend that,” he said as a pulse started in his carotid artery and his eyes leered. “I’d rather have that wet, raspy tongue of yours scraping all over my naked skin. Anywhere it lands will suit me just fine. Just so you have it juiced up sufficiently to stimulate me.” He shivered. "I can't wait! I'm getting moist just thinking about it!"

Spock put down his fork. “Leonard, must you?” He glanced about, then leaned toward McCoy. “Must you act so gross while I am trying to eat?”

“Oh, darlin,’ that’s not all that I’d like to be doing right now! I don’t wanna act gross, I wanna be gross! I’d like to jump up, grab you by the shoulders, pull you halfway across this table, and lay the biggest smacker-roo on your mouth that you’ve ever gotten from me! And that’s saying something, seeing as how that’s one of the most favorite things I like doing with you!” He winked. “But not my all-time favorite thing. But right now, I’d settle for that smacker-roo with you on top of this table.”

“And in the process, you would scatter our breakfast across the cafeteria. I have my waffle topped just the way that I like it, and all of my work would go unused. You would also get grease spots on my uniform from that bacon and egg concoction that you insist upon eating so early in the day. Then I would need to change into a clean uniform, because my appearance would be inappropriate for the bridge of the Enterprise. I would lose duty time while I was changing.” 

McCoy leaned back. “No problem! I’ll go back to our quarters with you and help you! I can get that uniform off you in record time! Wanna demonstration of my skill?! I'd only be too happy to accommodate.”

"Leonard, you are leering. And salivating."

"And that's just what you can see. There's all sorts of bodily reactions and juices running that you'll just have to take my word on," McCoy growled in a lust filled voice. "Come on. Let me help your skin to breath! Let's get rid of all of those nasty clothes now!"

Spock sighed with disdain. "With your ‘help,’ I would never make it to the bridge for my regular shift. And you, no doubt, would find that a sudden illness had come upon you, and you would decide that you were too ‘ill’ to make it to your own shift in sickbay.”

“That’s the beauty of it! I’m a doctor! I can make that kind of medical decision. Then we could do all sorts of hanky-panky. All day long. In our quarters. Just you and me. Getting the idea? Hmm? Come on, Spock! Work with me here! I’m trying to get us a little second honeymoon time together today.”

“That would be dereliction of duty, and you should not even suggest it.”

“Hey, buddy, you’re the one who brought up hanky-panky, I didn’t.” He leaned forward and said in a low, intimate voice. “And I hope that’s not the only thing that you can manage to bring up.”

Spock’s shoulders snapped back. “Leonard, honestly! You are being very mischievous this morning. And I believe that you should fetter your animal appetites.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“Yes, I do,” Spock answered primly as he messed with his napkin in his lap.

McCoy studied Spock’s bent head, then asked suddenly, “Hey, do you believe in reincarnation?” 

“Why do you ask?” Spock asked in distraction as he tried to reorganize his food into an acceptable pattern on his plate again.

“Because you gotta be something left over from the Victorian Age. If you were a women, you’d have the tightest private parts going, and you’d probably keep a padlock on it in addition.”

Spock glared at him.

“And you’d keep the key to the padlock on a chain dangling between your withered breasts. And that would be in the safest spot in the universe, because no man has ever gotten to second base with you.” McCoy shrugged and lightened the mood. “But, luckily, you were born a guy this time around.” He glanced hard at Spock. “And you’re my guy, in case you ever have any doubt.”

“No one is disputing your claim, Leonard,” Spock said absently as he concentrated on spreading strawberry preserves on his second waffle. "I am yours exclusively."

"Damn straight," McCoy muttered, then went back to his own food before it got any colder. “No, I think that I have the perfect nickname for you.”

Spock put down his knife. “Are we back to that?”

“Sweetie, I ain’t never left it,” McCoy said in a flirty manner. “Now, look at me. I’ve got all sorts of names. Len, Lenny, Leonard, Doctor, Doc, Mac, The Real McCoy, Bones. And you, you have nothing. Well, you do have that first name that nobody can pronounce. Tell me, did your folks hate you to come up with a moniker like that?”

“Moniker, I assume, means name. As for my given name, I bear a royal designation which denotes my ancestral lineage.”

“Well, your folks did you a disservice. They should have named you George or Humphrey.”

“Humphrey? Even I do not like that name.”

“Well, I don’t, either. No, I think that I shall call you ‘Rhubarb.’ That'd fit.” 

Spock sighed deeply.

McCoy grinned broadly. “Yeah, that’s it, for sure! ‘Rhubarb!’”

He waited, grinning, while Spock selected a bite of waffle, bit it off, and chewed elegantly while studying the middle distance over McCoy’s head.

Finally, McCoy could stand it no longer. “Well? Aren’t you gonna ask?!”

“Ask what?” 

“Why I’m gonna call you ‘Rhubarb?’”

“Leonard, it has been my experience that you will tell me, no matter what I say or do.”

“Oh, ‘Rhubarb’ is so right for you!” McCoy said with a broad grin. “You’re tart and acerbic and too sharp tasting for your own good. Then I come along and give you some sugar, and you become the sweetest thing in the universe. You just melt into the purest candy ever made, just right to nibble on. Perfect nickname for you, right?”

Spock gave him a prissy, over-sweet smile.

“Hey, guys!” Jim Kirk greeted as he rushed up with his heavily laden tray and slid into the chair next to McCoy. “Sorry I’m late. What did I miss?” He winked at them both. “That you can repeat to a third party, that is?”

Spock rolled his eyes. The March Hare had arrived. The Mad Hatter had already been with him.

“Spock’s needing a nickname,” McCoy answered.

Spock sighed deeply.

“Really?” Kirk automatically unfolded his napkin and spread it in his lap. Then he looked back and forth between his two friends. “Well, I got here just in time, I see.” Kirk began shaking salt and pepper over his plate well-mounded with food. 

Spock could see the corner of a slice of French toast sticking out and several pork sausages trying to survive under a massive omelet. Off to the side nested several blueberry muffins beside several rashers of bacon. A dish of assorted berries topped with custard pudding sat beside Kirk’s groaning dinner plate. A cup of hot mocha stood guard with a frosty glass of some sort of yellow fruit juice. Spock felt a little bilious. That was more food than he could eat in three days. And he most certainly would not consume any of the meats.

“Do you have any input about a nickname for Spock, Captain?” McCoy wanted to know. “He’s really in dire need of one. It would do so much for his public image, something to reflect his jovial nature and all.”

Spock sighed deeply.

“Oh, surely, I will,” Kirk said as he set down the salt and pepper shakers. "Always glad to help," he said enthusiastically.

“Please do not trouble yourself,” Spock suggested.

“No problem, no problem at all, Mr. Spock. What worth is a man if he can’t help his friends, I say.”

“Hear, hear,” McCoy agreed with a playful glint for Spock.

The damn Vulcan didn’t appreciate Kirk’s help, though. Not at all. But it appeared that he was going to have Kirk’s help, whether he wished it or not. For a project that wasn’t even his idea!

Kirk grinned with interest as he stabbed his fork into a breaded pork chop covered with thick white gravy.

Where had that been hiding, Spock wondered.

“Let me see," Kirk pondered. "What would be a good nickname for a guy who is so outgoing and exuberant and the life of the party? For a guy who rolls with the punches and spits in the eye of authority? For a guy who is the cause of all the mischief that happens, but always is quick to deny it? What would suit him to a ‘t?’”

Spock sighed deeply again and rolled his eyes. "Captain, I believe that you are describing yourself."

"Really?" Kirk asked with a grin as he chewed. "Imagine that!"

McCoy spoke up. “I suggested ‘Rhubarb,’ but that’s for purely personal reasons.” He shot hot sparks across the table at Spock and winked broadly. “And interests.”

Spock decided not to sigh deeply again. At this rate, he would soon be hyperventilating and would probably never make it to the bridge of the Enterprise for his shift.

There were even serious doubts about his ever being able to complete his breakfast.

Scotty rushed in, looking worried. “Sorry to disturb you, Captain. But you just gotta see this!” He glanced anxiously around the table. “All of you! You're not gonna believe this! I've never seen anything like this before!”

Kirk jumped to his feet and threw down his napkin. “Come on, Bones! Mr. Spock! Let’s saddle up!”

The four of them rushed out of the mess hall. Three of them wore grim faces, but the trace of a smile was on Spock’s face. That silly business of a nickname for him had been forgotten.

Then he sighed deeply just for good measure.

Yes, the nickname had been forgotten.

For now.

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing of Star Trek, its characters, and/or its story lines.


End file.
